As a cinephile who has traversed the labyrinth of cinematic narratives for decades now, I find myself irresistibly drawn to the captivating universe of M. Night Shyamalan. His films, like enigmatic puzzles, never cease to intrigue me – their twists and turns, their exploration of human nature, and their ability to evoke a spectrum of emotions from unnerved to delighted, often within the same film.
In a sense, one could argue that the movie Trap might seem unengaging and implausible. However, why would you want to do so? M. Night Shyamalan’s latest film, like his previous works such as The Sixth Sense (1999), The Village (2004), and his 2023 hit Knock at the Cabin, uses genre elements not for their usual purpose, but to explore deeper themes. In these movies, the plot serves as a vehicle for something more profound. So, while realism may take a back seat in Shyamalan’s films, they are still worth experiencing for their unique perspectives and subversions of expectations.
Over the past weekend, I watched “Trap” and have been pondering over it since then. I don’t have strong opinions about aspects like whether the dialogue seems genuine, or if the depiction of serial killers and police work is authentic, or if M. Night Shyamalan overemphasized his daughter Saleka’s talent as Lady Raven in the film. For me, the movie is a mesmerizing artifact unfolding at its leisurely pace and in its unique manner – an illusion that feels real until you notice everything is slightly off-balance. Movies I initially disliked, such as “The Village” (2004) and “Lady in the Water” (2006), have since become favorites of mine because with time, I realized my problem wasn’t with the films themselves but my expectations from them. I even enjoyed “After Earth” (2013), a film generally considered poor, as I saw it as a moral story cleverly disguised within a sci-fi blockbuster.
In essence, all of Shyamalan’s films share a common theme; it’s just that the part following “disguised as” changes. Similar to one of his role models, Rod Serling, the creator of The Twilight Zone, Shyamalan crafts moral stories. Serling’s work was characterized by intricate plot twists (like a surprising ending) that may fade from memory after initial viewing but leave behind more profound enjoyment. For instance, consider the iconic Twilight Zone episode “Eye of the Beholder,” which is frequently described as an exploration of beauty’s subjectivity, but also serves as a metaphor for life in a bigoted, authoritarian single-culture society. A despotic, pig-like leader on a TV in the hospital rants about diversity, shouting, “They allowed a polyglot, accident-bred, mongrel-like mass of diversification to blanket the earth, to infiltrate and weaken!”
M. Night Shyamalan’s breakthrough film, “The Sixth Sense,” released on his birthday a quarter of a century ago, is more than just a collection of its intricate narrative elements. While its shocking twist undeniably contributed to its success, it was the other aspects of the movie that truly propelled it to nearly $700 million at the box office. These included the authentic portrayal of everyday life outside of New York and Los Angeles (Shyamalan often films in his hometown Philadelphia or Pennsylvania), the captivating concept of a compassionate child, Haley Joel Osment’s character Cole Sear, who could listen to the untold stories of tormented spirits and aid them in finding justice. The film also delved into the theme of becoming so engrossed in work that one loses sight of personal relationships: Dr. Malcolm Crowe (Bruce Willis) becomes overly focused on helping Cole, feeling remorseful for neglecting his wife Anna due to his career ambitions.
Shyamalan’s films rarely focus solely on a series of events, often exploring how hardships can shape individuals into forces for either good or evil. For instance, in “The Sixth Sense,” Malcolm’s dedication to his profession serves as an escape from the harsh realities of his existence, but it also helps Malcolm understand his purpose and guides Cole towards recognizing his own. Another recurring theme in Shyamalan’s work is the discovery of one’s hidden purpose, such as in “The Sixth Sense,” where Malcolm assists Cole in realizing why he was meant to be on earth, and using the skills he learned from Malcolm to confront truths about himself, starting with the revelation that HE’S DEAD. In “The Lady in the Water,” a water nymph or narf seeks ascension to a higher plane of existence, but must first evade attacks by the scrunt, a grass-like creature resembling a wolf. The protagonist, the superintendent, initially believes another person will fulfill the role of “The Healer,” until he recognizes it is his own destiny. Throughout the film, he has been healing the building and its inhabitants, making him the ideal choice for this role. His ascent to a higher plane occurs when he confronts his deep-seated despair over the murder of his wife and child by confessing these feelings.
In a less traditional manner, M. Night Shyamalan’s penchant for allegory and symbolism can sometimes feel outdated in an inconvenient way. For instance, the trilogy known as the “Unbreakable” series, comprising “Unbreakable” (2000), “Split” (2016), and “Glass” (2019), has faced criticism for its portrayal of mental illness. In these films, characters like Samuel L. Jackson’s fragile-boned villain, Glass, seek to discover if there exists someone as unbreakable as he is brittle. Similarly, the titular character in “Split” splintered into 23 identities due to abusive childhood experiences. The diagnosis of mental illness presented in these films can be compared to the rage of Macbeth or the protagonist of Alban Berg’s opera “Wozzeck”, or perhaps to the physics in “After Earth” or the scientific explanation behind the events occurring on the beach in Shyamalan’s 2021 horror-mystery “Old”.
In their most elaborate and flawlessly crafted form, Shyamalan’s films carry the bite of a moral tale and the conflicts reminiscent of the Mahabharata. For instance, consider “The Village,” where the authoritarian leader is akin to Bruce Wayne choosing seclusion over combat: Upon his billionaire father’s murder, he establishes a fortified settlement in Pennsylvania woods, patterned after 19th-century rural life, enshrouded within a wildlife sanctuary, and sustained by a mythology of monster attacks. The community is concealed from outsiders through bribing the government to halt air surveys. Edward suffers karmic retribution for his arrogance and deceit when Ivy’s fiancé is almost fatally stabbed by a mentally challenged man infatuated with Ivy, compelling her to venture beyond the wall in search of life-saving medicine. The climactic revelation (the story was set in the 21st century all along) mirrors Serling, but it pales in comparison to the script’s other lessons: Crime exists everywhere, and barriers will not solve the problem; an illusion of security can be acquired through lies, but they distort those who dwell within them (written and filmed post-9/11, “The Village” was released a year after the US invasion of Iraq).
The plot of movies like “The Sixth Sense” or “The Village” might seem inconsistent or unrealistic, but people still find them believable due to their engaging storylines. For instance, a ghost in “The Sixth Sense” can’t open a locked door but can break a window. Similarly, the idea that no one in “The Village” has ever needed to leave before might seem unrealistic, yet it works within the context of the movie. As for “The Visit”, it starts as a ‘found-footage’ horror movie, but later transitions into a conventionally edited one, which might seem contradictory, but the intense and unsettling nature of the film, coupled with its deep portrayal of the protagonists’ emotions, often makes this formal inconsistency overlooked.
M. Night Shyamalan doesn’t limit his work to conventional storytelling; instead, he creates films that resemble vivid, dream-like recollections with a hint of self-deprecating humor and introspection. For instance, The Visit shares similarities with Steven Spielberg’s The Fabelmans in terms of exploring the filmmaking journey of a child prodigy. Moreover, The Lady in the Water is not just a misunderstood film but one that I believe is exceptionally deep and beautiful in Shyamalan’s repertoire. It carries layers of commentary on screenwriting clichés and mainstream film analysis, ultimately critiquing how sophisticated viewership can lead to a loss of raw emotional impact. However, Shyamalan’s reflections on filmmaking, spectatorship, or even his subtle references to IMDb (like casting Hayley Mills, who starred in Disney’s original Parent Trap, as an FBI profiler), never overpower the productions to the detriment of the characters and their narratives.
I witnessed the movie “Trap” in a bustling theater in Dallas, where the audience was fully engaged, leaning forward and focusing on the screen rather than their phones, captivated by M. Night Shyamalan’s skillful casting and directing. The film features actors perfectly suited to their roles, moving through a chain of events primarily from their perspective. This continues until a shift in perspective in the third act, as “Trap” is predominantly narrated from Cooper’s point of view, even during concert scenes where the camera follows Cooper and his daughter Riley (Ariel Donoghue) on the arena floor and occasionally backstage. A significant portion of the film’s unique atmosphere arises from how the character portrayed by Hartnett, a self-assured yet anxious serial killer, interacts with people who are unaware that he is being pursued.
I left with the impression that it wasn’t ordinary crime dramas like Zodiac that came to mind, but rather films belonging to a specific genre that Anne Billson aptly labeled as “the implausible thriller.” In this subgenre, events that logically shouldn’t occur frequently take place, and the narrative progresses with an intense, dreamlike realism. Movies such as Gone Girl, Basic Instinct, many of Hitchcock and De Palma’s films are examples of implausible thrillers. The self-assured, thrill-driven demeanor of Cooper brought to mind Hitchcock’s Rope, a film inspired by the Leopold and Loeb case, where a murder victim is hidden in an antique trunk used as a buffet table during a party at the apartment of the killers. Additionally, after watching Trap, I found myself thinking about Basic Instinct, another movie filled with unbelievable occurrences, much like Trap, which centers around a killer who resembles a demon or devil figure and manages to act suspiciously without being apprehended, as when Cooper strolls into a room full of police officers and approaches the front as if he were a stadium employee servicing the refreshments.
From the very beginning, there’s an uncanny, dreamlike quality to the story, with Cooper’s deceptive veneer of ordinary life standing out like a shop-bought Halloween mask. He embodies the stereotypical image of a tough yet amiable straight white male suburban father so perfectly that he seems almost alien in a sci-fi satire, or a Soviet spy in a spy movie disguised as an Everyman American. And there’s a hint of something sinister about him, as one of my favorite lines from the film Bob Roberts puts it. Throughout the film Trap, characters unwittingly provide Cooper with information that could help him elude capture, making it seem as if he has an uncanny knack for coaxing people to reveal secrets. It’s as if he possesses a unique power that compels people to spill their secrets.
In the climactic stages of this film, the last vestiges of realism dissolve, leaving us immersed in a dreamscape or Hitchcock’s realm. The plot unfolds in such a way that it seems plausible for a high-profile criminal mastermind like our protagonist to secure backstage passes for himself and his companion Riley, to meet the performer Lady Raven, and gain access to an escape route – all without any prior connections or clearance from her security team. It’s a stretch, I admit, but perhaps that’s not the point.
In the latter movies, it’s no accident that the villains are portrayed as being almost inhuman, with only a thin line separating them from supernatural monsters: Cady clings beneath a moving vehicle for hours on end, and Lecter is so sly and manipulative that he can persuade a man to bite off his own tongue. Cooper fits this pattern. At times, he appears to share some characteristics with Michael Myers, the enigmatic figure from the original Halloween, with Mills’s profiler taking on the role of Dr. Loomis and Lady Raven stepping into the narrative as a virtuous, self-sacrificing character similar to Laurie Strode, who is primarily concerned with safeguarding women and children from an unseen threat. Both Halloween and its references are subtly incorporated into Trap, which also explores Cooper’s upbringing under a domineering mother who recognized his dangerous tendencies at a young age. Naturally, Psycho is a significant influence on Halloween, and these films are subtly echoed in Trap.
As a movie enthusiast, I’ve always found M. Night Shyamalan’s thrillers to be unique in their portrayal of complex characters. Instead of stereotypical villains with exaggerated mustaches, his stories present individuals who, despite becoming society’s adversaries due to circumstances or personal experiences, have motives that resonate once explained.
Following a similar vein, Cooper’s narrative mirrors that of Don Draper from Mad Men, portraying a character struggling with social norms despite his own deep-seated flaws. The most profound insight Cooper gains is when he recognizes that by maintaining distinct personas as an ideal worker, husband, and father versus his hidden life as a jailer, abuser, and murderer, his life maintained balance, but once these worlds collided, everything fell apart. Shyamalan’s fascination with the interplay of nature and nurture is evident, and he also hints at an older belief that evil is not merely an idea but a force that can possess even good people. The emergence of Dennis as the black-eyed Beast, scaling walls like an insect, may initially seem out of place, but if we’ve followed Shyamalan’s previous work, it becomes an accepted part of the narrative within the moment. This unfolds in a universe reminiscent of the comic book-influenced world depicted in Unbreakable.
You’re familiar with Maya Angelou’s quote, “People may forget what you say or do, but they will never forget how you make them feel.” This sentiment resonates with me when it comes to certain storytellers like M. Night Shyamalan. I admire the artistry and imagination he infuses into each of his projects, the recurring themes he explores, and above all, the emotions his work evokes – in Shyamalan’s case, feelings of unease, discomfort, even disturbance, yet simultaneously open-heartedness, delight, and inspiration.
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2024-08-08 22:58